


Very Own Lullaby

by Cassidy_OMalley



Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies), Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol (2011)
Genre: Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-10
Updated: 2014-11-10
Packaged: 2018-02-24 19:39:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2593877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cassidy_OMalley/pseuds/Cassidy_OMalley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing scene.<br/>There was more to William Brandt than met the eye. This was Ethan's first hint of it.<br/>A brief character study of William Brandt as seen through Ethan's eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Very Own Lullaby

**Author's Note:**

> A missing scene from Ghost Protocol that takes place on the plane ride to Dubai.  
> The lyrics are from the song "Lullaby" by Nickelback.

_Well, everybody's hit the bottom._  
 _Everybody's been forgotten._  
 _And left a little empty handed,_  
 _So if you're out there barely hanging on..._

       Looking back on it now, Ethan will always wonder why it took him so long to put the pieces together. He could say that he had just been diagnosed with a mild concussion but he’d completed missions shot, stabbed, blown up, drugged, and sometimes (just for fun) a combination of all those before. So a mild concussion wasn't a decent excuse. He could also say that he had more pressing matters on his mind such as being disavowed, being blamed for an act of terrorism, and worried for the current safety of his team and the future state of the world, but really all that was just another day at the office. Albeit, a _bad_ day at the office but a typical-ish day none the less. He could even say that everything after had all happened so fast that he hadn't had the time to wonder about it but that, he thought, was just taking it too far. Yes, everything had happened too fast, it always did. His whole life happened too fast and the day that it became too much for him was the day he got too old for this. And he wasn't there quite yet.  
            So, what was it? There had been plenty of clues that there was more to the Secretary’s chief analyst William Brandt than met the eye. There had been five big ones in the first hour of acquaintance alone. First, there had been that little tickle at the back of his mind that he had seen the younger man before. But Ethan had instantly passed that off as maybe he’d seen him at the IMF headquarters at some point. By now, he should have known better than to pass over things like that. The second clue was the other man’s face the moment he saw him. It had all been over in a second, just enough time for the analyst to rearrange his face into one of political neutrality, but it had been enough for a trained agent like Ethan to catch. There had been a double-take and a widening of eyes that betrayed surprise. But more importantly, there had been a look of horror in those blue eyes. Horror that seemed to come from nowhere. Of course Ethan had been too keen on identifying Hendricks at the time to bother with the fears of a cubical worker who never faced anything more terrifying than a copy machine on a rampage. The third clue was how Brandt addressed him. Ethan hadn't been able to put his finger on it, but there was something about Brandt’s whole manner towards him that seemed odd. The way he first offered out his hand for a handshake. He did it like he was expecting Ethan to refuse it or even push it away. The way he didn't like looking at him. Or more specifically, he didn't like looking him in the eye; almost like he felt he didn't have a right to. Again, Ethan had chocked that up to working in an office with little real social interaction. Even while he took note that Brandt didn't seem to have any of those problems dealing with his boss, even going so far as to contradict him at one point.  
            The fourth clue was Brandt’s physical reflexes. When the car they were in was first hit, Ethan had ducked down low in the seat. It was a reflex honed by training and years of pointy projectiles being aimed at his head. A normal person’s instinct would have been to grab onto the seat and tuck their chin down to their chest in preparation for the impact of a car accident. Dropping low in case of oncoming bullets was not something people just did. And yet, when Ethan had looked across the seat to instruct the other two to follow his example he found that not only had Brandt already done it but he had also put an arm out to try to keep the Secretary down as well. His ducking alone hinted at field training and the added habit of reaching out to worry about another person suggested experience in being part of a team. The fifth and final clue had been Brandt’s instinctual reflexes, the things that he did automatically that Ethan should have had to tell him to do. Like at the train station, the way he always emphasized important phrases with gestures or expressions or how he paired a vocal signal with a tap on Ethan’s back or shoulder. These weren't the signs of an animated person. These were things field agents did to make sure important information was only relayed once and to make sure cues to move were clear even when it was hard to hear each other (such as when trains are passing all around you). And then, when they had finally found the right car and were trying to get it open—Ethan was still planning a chat with someone about the overkill of the retinal scan—Brandt had known exactly what to do so that Ethan could focus on the locks. He had run ahead of Ethan instead of keeping even with him, keeping watch for oncoming enemies or the occasional pole. He had also known to keep his instructions clear, to the point, and only when necessary. These were all signs not only of a field agent, and not only of one who was part of a team. These were all traits of a point man.  
            When put like that, how could anyone doubt that the man was or had been a field agent? Which was why the fact that Ethan didn’t really notice anything worth his interest until Dubai was just embarrassing. Ok, to be completely fair to himself, he had actually started to suspect something on the plane ride over. It was late that night, all of them crammed into the back seats of a commercial plane under some aliases Benji had scrounged up last minute. Benji was stretched out into as comfortable position as possible in the third row from the back. Ethan could just see the top of his head but he was sure he was asleep, his stamina level not up to field agent status yet. He and Jane were in the very last row, him in front of the bathroom and her across the aisle from him. She had her eyes closed but Ethan knew she wouldn’t be sleeping, her mind still on Agent Hanaway’s death. Ethan himself had learned long ago to take sleep when you could get it and had relaxed his body as best he could. In fact, he had just been on that verge of sleep and awake when suddenly he heard someone rush past him, making a beeline for the bathroom. By the time the door closed, he was sitting up straight with open eyes and head turned when he heard the familiar sound of someone emptying the contents of their stomach into the toilet. Ethan’s eyes adjusted quickly to the low light, giving him a clear view of Jane’s face as she looked at the bathroom door in obvious interest.  
             Maybe it was Jane’s look, but probably it was just another of his hunches. Whichever it was, even though Ethan hadn’t seen who’d run past him, he found himself unbuckling his seatbelt and moving to stand with his ear close to the bathroom door. Of course, what he heard was what anyone could expect to hear: a lot of coughing, gagging and dry heaves. Then the toilet flushed and the person inside turned on the tap to clean themselves up. Just the normal sounds of someone who got motion sick. But still Ethan waited. Why or what he was waiting to hear even he didn’t know—until he heard it. A low, painful groan; like that of a man lost at sea with no hope of salvation. Before he could ponder the sound more, Ethan hurt the tap shut off and he took his cue to move quickly back to his seat. He had no sooner rebuckled his seatbelt than the door opened and there in the doorway, looking pale and still a bit sick, stood William Brandt. Keeping all emotion except polite concern off his face Ethan tilted his head and asked,

“Brandt, you alright?” There was that moment when Brandt turned to look at him and in that instant, Ethan saw it. That emotion that Brandt was trying desperately for the sake of the mission to control. Until now, Ethan hadn’t been able to identify it but this time he was ready. It wasn't fear or anxiety like Ethan would have expected of an office worker suddenly thrown into a life or death situation. It wasn’t even the shock of seeing a man shot in the head. It was something pure and raw. It was guilt.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just something in the food didn’t agree with me. But I guess that’s airline food.” Brandt said dismissively with a one shoulder shrug.

“It’s this economy. Everyone’s having to take short cuts and dinner is always the first to go.” Ethan said with an easy grin. It wasn’t that what Brandt said had been funny, Ethan was grinning because he knew it was a boldface lie. Brandt hadn’t touched a bite since this whole thing started.

“I always was glad I never had to deal with those numbers.” Brandt mumbled before he started back towards his seat, leaving Ethan to wonder if that had been his idea of a joke.

              When the subject of seating had first come up, Benji had immediately claimed the only window seat for himself. Ethan and Jane, out of habit, had taken the two closest to the back; all the better to watch the other passengers with. As for the analyst, he had immediately selected the seat closest to the front of the plane. Benji hadn't thought a thing about that. Unless it was a window seat with free champagne, one cramped seat was just the same as any other cramped seat. Jane, ever the thorough over-thinker, had read something specific into the choice. She had seen it as him taking the best seat—the one closest to first class. Already, she had assigned him in her mind as weak, arrogant, and in the way. And if the look of uselessness accompanied by a head shake aimed at his retreating back was any indication, Jane’s opinion of him hadn’t changed. As Ethan’s eyes followed the other man back to his seat he had to admit that though both his teammates presented valid opinions of the man, both were also completely wrong. Ethan knew that the man hadn't chosen the seat furthest away from the rest of them out of arrogance. Quite the opposite, in fact. He had chosen it because he, unknowingly, agreed with Jane. He, more than any of them, felt like he didn’t belong there.  
              Why was that? What had happened that he had such an opinion of himself? Ethan had always been a betting man and he was willing to bet his favourite Sig Sauer that whatever it was that had happened to Brandt also had something to do with why he had gotten reacquainted with his breakfast moments ago. It would have been easy to blame it on seeing the US Secretary shot or being in a car accident but things were never that simple. The throwing up, trying to hide it, and the dark circles that showed that whatever sleep he had gotten had been fitful, those didn't come from sleep induced nightmares. No. These were the actions of a man who was terrified of going to sleep because the nightmare he found waiting for him there was somehow even worse than the one he faced when awake. The only question, Ethan wondered, was what could be so bad?

 _I'm telling you that, it's never that bad._  
Take it from someone who's been where you're at,  
Laid out on the floor,  
And you're not sure you can take this anymore.


End file.
